


Blueberry-Lemon

by GoldenAceCard



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking, Cute, Domestic Johnlock, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mess, Mild Language, My Definition of Drabble is Very Skewed Tho, Oneshot, more of a drabble really, no real smut tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 21:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenAceCard/pseuds/GoldenAceCard
Summary: John gazed at the sad burnt cake sitting on the stove top, sighing in defeat.





	Blueberry-Lemon

John pulled out the hot pan and set it on a heat-resistant cloth. Noticing the too-dark brown edge, he poked at the top with a knife. He furrowed his brow and flipped the cake out onto the wire rack, the bundt shape falling into more of a pile as it landed. He picked up his phone and reread the recipe for likely the eighth time, searching for what went wrong. Combing through each step, he made sure his equipment matched what was described, looked through the ingredients list, and-

Oh no. Shit.

400 grams of salt had seemed like a bit much for a pound cake...

That's because it was supposed to be _sugar_. God, _how did he not realize_?!

John gazed at the sad burnt cake sitting on the stove top, sighing in defeat. He prodded a blackened piece that had fallen off and it fell apart into inedible crumbs.

Sherlock heard the sound of John's disappointment from the sitting area where he sat in his armchair with John's computer open on his lap. He looked up at his boyfriend and quickly registered why he was upset. Closing the lid to not-his-laptop, he leaned forward in his seat. "Anything salvageable?" he asked.

"Huh?" John looked back at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Oh, no, definitely not."

Sherlock rose and walked into the kitchen. He glanced briefly at the "cake" and took a less burnt-looking piece from the opposite edge, popping it in his mouth. Immediately gagging on the bitter and salty flavor, he spat it out into the sink.

John chuckled, "you should've trusted me."

Sherlock turned on the tap and filled a cup with cold water, swishing and spitting to get the taste out of his mouth. "It's not that I didn't trust you," he said, pausing and taking another gulp, "but that I wanted to conduct my own research."

"Results?"

"Bit not good," he returned John's smile with one of his own. 

John sighed again, "yeah, Mrs. Hudson was coming over to help but she's off-," he waved a hand vaguely, "-somewhere."

"Need a new teacher then?" Sherlock offered, setting his glass down and leaning against the counter.

"You?" John said disbelievingly, "Sherlock, do you even _know_ how to bake?"

"Of course!" he said. "Mother insisted Mycroft and I learn when we were younger."

John stood up on his tip-toes, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. "If you say so, thank you."

"Does helping you mean I get more of that?" A light rose blossomed on Sherlock's nose and cheeks, only noticeable because of how it contrasted with his pale skin.

"Maybe," John said. "Let's finish this first, and I might think about it."

"That's not how agreements work, John, but judging by your tone, I don't believe my chances to be jeopardized." He snatched John's phone from off the counter, skimming the recipe. "Blueberry-lemon pound cake?"

"Yeah, it was for some event-thing Mrs. Hudson and I were going to," he cleared his throat. "Plans changed, don't know where Mrs. Hudson went, don't know how to bake, and I'm not even sure I need to make this stupid cake."

Sherlock set the device down, "well, it could be fun anyway." 

John smiled again, "Alright."

"First things first," he clapped his hands together then pointed at the not-cake, "throw that abomination away."

~~~

Sherlock gripped the balloon whisk, mixing the dry ingredients calmly near John, who was fighting with the electric hand mixer and desperately trying to cream the butter, cream cheese, and sugar.

"It's broken, Sherlock, it has to be broken!" he used a spatula to push the butter chunk stuck to the whisk end. He flipped the switch, tiny droplets spraying off as the metal started to spin rapidly. He groaned and shut it off again. "See? It only sometimes turns on."

Sherlock's mouth quirked at the corner, "that's because you didn't soften the butter, it's still frozen. The whisks are catching." He passed the bowl of flour to John, switching places with him. "We can microwave it."

John watched Sherlock put the entire plastic bowl into the microwave. He picked up a decent-sized pinch of flour and tossed it at Sherlock, the white powder landing softly on his shoulder. "Smart-arse," he said playfully, turning his body away from the detective towards the counter-top, mixing lazily at the dry ingredients. 

Sherlock glanced at his arm, then looked back down at the counter. He swiped his left hand through a flour spill from earlier, drew his arm back, and hit John on the arse with it. A white hand print was outlined distinctly, enhanced by the cloud of dust floating around it. Sherlock's look turned smug when John exclaimed a surprised, "hey!"

"Only what a smart-arse would do, John," he said. John tried to look mock-annoyed, but he couldn't suppress the small amused smile on his lips. The microwave beeped then and Sherlock turned away to remove the bowl of half-melted butter and cream cheese, complete with awkwardly warm sugar. It would be well enough to cream without jamming the machine again.

"Switch me again," Sherlock said, handing the mixer to John and trading places. "Now, position it lower in the bowl this time and set it to the first tick." John did as he was told, carefully maneuvering the ends around the base edge. The machine whirred consistently, changing in pitch when John shifted to a higher speed (on Sherlock's command). He managed to achieve minimal splatter, though he did have a sizable glop hit his jumper collar from when he'd lifted up a bit too high.

"You're missing a few places," Sherlock commented after a couple minutes, "here." Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John, chest to his back and right hand covering right hand on the mixer. With what was probably practiced ease, Sherlock helped John get at the unmixed pockets he'd been dodging accidentally, rotating his wrist at just the right angle. Sherlock was pressed close enough (definitely on purpose) that John thought he could feel the detective's heartbeat near his spine. He felt himself get a little distracted by the melodic, almost hypnotizing beat.

Sherlock flicked the switch off and set the beater aside when he was satisfied with the mixture. He didn't move away from John, but wrapped both arms around him like a koala instead. John's eyes fluttered closed as Sherlock kissed him twice on the cheek. He pressed a few to his jawline, slower, one a bit nearer to his ear -- drifting down towards the pulse in his throat, John letting his head loll to the side slightly and taking in a long breath to steady his heart. Closer to the dip in his collarbone-

A shrill beeping made them both snap to attention, Sherlock backing off a little. His hands still lingered on John's abdomen. The oven had finished preheating and Sherlock hummed in disapproval.

"Maybe later," John said, turning around to kiss Sherlock on the corner of his mouth, "don't want the flat to burn down." An even scarlet flush had drifted across the doctor's face, his steely cobalt eyes darkened to a deep navy. Sherlock figured he probably wasn't much better off, feeling his own erratic heartbeat in his chest.

"Right, cake." His own voice had dropped an octave. He drew in a breath for support and cleared his throat.

They finished the separate dry and wet mixes, combining them in the bigger bowl. While John gave an honest attempt at not making a bigger mess, he was the least graceful figure in the kitchen. At one point, he managed to get the rubber spatula stuck to the ceiling. Sherlock faintly wondered how the man in front of him, who was currently yelling unkind things at the tub of lemon yogurt with a stuck lid, was an expert marksman with deadly accuracy and former veteran of the army. He laughed faintly at the ridiculous sight, to which John glared un-threateningly.

Sherlock gave the blueberries a final few tosses to properly coat them in flour before passing the container to John. "Do you know how to fold the blueberries into the batter?" he asked. 

John's lips parted and he examined the ceiling, tongue clicking absently as he tried to remember. "That's like stirring but carefully, right?" he tried.

Sherlock nodded, "very good. Well, you're completely wrong but..." he thought for a moment before shaking his head suddenly and rapidly, powder-dusted curls bouncing. "Can't explain it, but it's like this." 

He took the blueberries back, adding about half and methodically showing John how to bring the batter up and over in a layering-type technique. John observed then tried it himself, keeping his motions steady and repetitive. Sherlock watched the look of absolute concentration on John's features, a faint, dorky smile on his own face at the endearing image.

John poured the batter into the cleaned and greased bundt pan, Sherlock standing aside to scrape out remaining bits from the bowl with a spatula. He stepped away towards his left so John could open the oven and put the cake in, careful to avoid a burn. John swiped the kitchen timer off a shelf, setting it for 55 minutes.

"We've got an hour," John looked up, unspoken proposition hanging between them. He held the timer in both hands loosely, looking up at Sherlock's blue-green eyes. Sherlock smirked and caught his lips in a kiss, running long fingers through blond hair leisurely. John reciprocated, tossing the device somewhere on the counter and tugging at the buttons near Sherlock's collar.

~~~

John, now dressed in his own pajama pants and Sherlock's red t-shirt, tossed off the soft, warm blanket and got up from the couch where he and Sherlock had been watching telly together. They'd curled up there after coming out of their shared bedroom to take the cake out of the oven, which had likely finished cooling by now. Sherlock recognized John's absence in his half-asleep state, blinking drowsily and sitting upright. He was clad only in grey sweatpants resting low on his hips and an emerald robe hanging loose on his shoulders.

John carefully maneuvered the bowl with two hands around the top ridge of the cake, lemony icing drizzling out onto the dessert. He shook the container gently to get out any remaining drips, setting the bowl down. Sherlock stood by him now, running his finger along the bowl's rim to taste the frosting. 

"Good?" John asked.

"Good," Sherlock sucked at a stray drip that'd run down towards his palm.

John dug through the miscellaneous utensils drawer, producing a butter knife. "Want to try a proper piece?" he offered.

Sherlock nodded and reached into the cupboard for two plates while John cut. They took the slices back into the sitting room, cuddling up together on the couch again. Sherlock sat against the armrest with his legs spread across the cushions, John sitting between his legs and leaning into his shoulder. Long arms came to wrap around his waist and pull him close. They watched the fourth Harry Potter movie, Sherlock originally objecting because, 'that's a kid's movie' with John insisting anyway because Sherlock had never seen it (and the stoic detective won't admit getting _really_ into it). They ate cake, occasionally feeding each other like sappy couples do, and eventually ended up falling asleep there, completely oblivious to the blueberry-lemon smudges on their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/lemon-blueberry-pound-cake/ If you wanted the recipe Sherlock and John used, here ya go! I've never made it but it looks pretty cool -- you'll have convert Fahrenheit/Celsius/etc. tho.


End file.
